Temptation Has Green Eyes (32 page)

“Why not?”

Once more he took her mouth in a long, leisurely kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth and letting her explore him. They indulged in some play, kissing and stroking. But when she wriggled her breasts against his hard chest to bring herself a little ease, he laughed, and for the first time, his voice held no shadows.

He was happy, and she was making him that way. That knowledge gave her a huge amount of satisfaction, warming her all the way through.

As he did when he moved lower, toying with her navel and the skin inside her hips, making her flinch and cry out.

“Take it,” he said, his voice rough. “Take everything, and then I’ll give you more.”

Shuddering, she sifted her hands through his hair, seeking out the hard male strength beneath the silky locks.

He gave a throaty chuckle and moved farther down her body. “Dark hair, and that luscious pink center. You are so beautiful, my love.”

She’d never considered that part of her beautiful, but since she thought his cock not just arousing but a perfect design of power and tenderness, she could understand.

He sipped at her, gentle at first, and he ran his tongue over his lips, gathering her taste. “Delicious too,” he said.

Then, with a growl, he broke. Diving in, he sucked her clitoris hard, making her cry out, her body jerking up into the heat of his mouth. He opened wider, sucked more lavishly, licking and sucking, driving her impossibly hard impossibly fast.

Shoving his hands under her rear, he drew her up, held her steady while he ate at her. He was a man starved, ravenously devouring her and sending her higher with every suck, every lick.

Opening his mouth wide, he sucked, and to her shock she realized he had all of her in the compass of his jaws. Pleasuring every part of her, his hands holding her up so he could reach the heart of her.

Fluttering shocks radiated up her spine, to the top of her head and out, encompassing the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes. He owned all of her, and she gave herself gladly, completely.

“I’m yours,” she gasped as he drove her to a fiery peak. One that drove thoughts of anything except him from her mind. It washed her clean, left her limp and stunned.

As he lifted away from her, cool air swept over her, leaving her refreshed, born anew. She gazed into his beloved face, so open now, no secrets between them.

“Ready, my love?”

“Yes.”

She knew what he meant. To make love without stint or hindrance. For the first time they’d be making love openly, both acknowledging what the other meant to them. Everything.

Although she wanted to explore him too, smooth her hands down his body, take his cock in hand and taste it, lavish her attention on it as he’d just done to her, she held fast. For now they needed to join their bodies and their hearts. Needed it.

“Max, I love you.”

“I love you too, Sophia. My heart.”

Taking his cock in one hand, he guided it to her, and slowly, so that she felt every tiny invasion, he thrust inside her.

Sophia let out her breath in a long sigh. “I want you here all the time.”

“Impossible. But you know I’m there in spirit. In the middle of a ball, at the theater or even at court I’m here, inside you. Where I belong.”

She cupped his cheek. “It feels like that?”

“It does. I was created for this, Sophia, my love.”

His movement appeared an organic development of their joining, a sway and dance only they shared. He took her mouth in a deep kiss, and she responded eagerly. Tasting her most intimate juices on his lips sent her higher. The dance grew more frenzied but it was all a part of what they were and what they meant to each other.

Everything, always.

He lifted up, never taking his attention from her face, and pressed her palms against his chest, made free with his body. And when she looked down, she saw where they joined, his cock pistoning in and out of her slick depths. Every movement brought her new and higher sensations, the touch to her interior channel shocking now, delivering more with every stroke. Bracing herself against the mattress, she came up to meet him, completing her part of the dance. His eyes grew brighter, wilder, and again he laughed in simple joy.

“That’s it, love. Give yourself to me. Nothing else matters.”

It didn’t. She came with a completeness that enveloped her in heat, swept through her with a new understanding of what ownership meant. He owned her because she allowed it, and in return she had him. “I’m yours, always,” she told him at the height of her passion, before words left her completely.

“And I belong to you.” His cock jerked inside her and he came in short, hard spurts that rocked him. His muscles tensed, each in high relief, unconsciously displaying his superb physique as he came.

He half closed his eyes, sweat gleamed on his forehead and over his body, and she wanted to claim it for herself. Take all of him and absorb it.

His breath shortened into gasps and then he collapsed on to her. Still, in the throes of passion, he had a care for her.

With a growl, he circled her with his arms and rolled so she was nestled against him. “I can’t let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.” She pressed a kiss against his chest, the sparse hairs nudging her lips. “I won’t let you go, either.”

A thought that had nagged at her since their marriage jolted her mind again. Fully relaxed, no block between her mind and her mouth she said, “Will you always feel this way? Can this last?”

He stopped her questions by the simple expedient of pulling her down for a kiss. “Yes. There is nobody in the world like you, sweetheart. No others that I love. None as clever, or as graceful. Let yourself be beautiful, sweetheart, and others will see it, too. We won’t always see eye to eye, I know that, but never concern yourself with that. I won’t stray, I swear it now.”

“Even if I never let you into my bed again?”

“In case you’d forgotten”—amusement coloring his voice—“this is
my
bed. Soon to be our bed, I hope and pray. You’ll have to use your room sometimes, for your levees and suchlike, but here is where you come at the end of every night. Or I’ll come and join you. I never want to wake up alone again.”

Now she smiled. She went back into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Which part?”

“That you love me.”

He cracked a laugh. “So after a day when you learn you’re a princess, that’s the concern that affects you the most? That I love you? Believe me, that part was easy.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“But you are of royal blood. And you’re mine.”

Growling, he kissed her and they lost each other in their kiss.

Smiling, he touched her chin as their lips separated. “Do we go out tonight?”

“We should. Let people see us.”

“We should.” But neither made an effort to move.

“Let’s go back to the country to tomorrow.”

She smiled at him, completely and deeply his. “Yes, let’s.”

Lynne Connolly lives in England with her family and her mews, Jack the cat. She comes to the USA every year to visit her publishers and readers. She was born in Leicester, England and was brought up in a haunted house. She is part Romany, and in her spare time she loves reading the Tarot as her grandmother taught her, and making and filling dollhouses.

Turn the page for a special excerpt of Lynne Connolly’s

Rogue In Red Velvet

If Connie loses her standing in society, she risks losing everything…except Alex.

When country widow Constance Rattigan finds herself in a notorious London brothel instead of at the altar, only one person can save her from the auction block. Alex Vernon walked away from Connie once before, when he discovered her engagement. Now that her fiancé has betrayed her, Lord Ripley doesn’t intend to leave her again. But Connie has other ideas… She won’t marry him until her name is cleared.

Alex decides to make Connie’s wishes come true, but it’s not that easy, even with the help of his powerful relatives known as the Emperors of London.

On sale now!

March, 1754

The library door crashed open, shattering Connie’s peace and admitting the last man she wanted to be alone with. Pretending unperturbed tranquility, Connie put her pen in the standish. She clasped her hands on top of the book she’d been working on to still the trembling his presence caused.

Wide-eyed, chest heaving, the normally elegant, cool Lord Ripley, slammed the door and put his back to it.

She met his blank, dark stare and cursed her fluttering pulse. Whatever had put him in this state, it couldn’t be trivial.

He blinked, straightened and assumed the town bronze most of his sort used like a cloak, covering whatever he felt beneath. He gave the perfectly tied strip of linen at his neck a twitch, arranged his sleeve ruffles, then straightened his wig. As poise and elegance returned, he transformed from a hunted fugitive to a gentleman and pushed away from the door. He strolled to the old, scarred table at which she sat. “Here you are.”

What a ridiculous statement. “I believe I am.” She read a line in the journal before her, more to look away than because she needed to, and took a steadying breath before she met his eyes once more. “May I help you, Lord Ripley?”

“I merely wondered why you lock yourself away here every day, Mrs. Rattigan. And I came to see if I may assist you in any way.”

“I’m perfectly fine, sir. I doubt you could help me, or have any interest in doing so.” She’d avoided him for three days and wanted none of his games. She didn’t care why he’d shot in here, only she wished he’d shoot out again, just as fast.

“Is it something too difficult for my paltry brain? Are you a bluestocking, ma’am, that you labor here day after day without joining the revelry?” In full control, his society manners polished as ever, he walked to her side of the table and loomed over her.

Her heart beat faster and her breath quickened. She worked to hide his effect on her and castigated herself for a fool. He wasn’t interested in her in that way, much less when she had her hair scraped back in a knot, wore no cosmetics at all and had donned her old clothes in preparation for the dusty work. She was just an excuse, an escape from something. Or someone. She was no empty-headed miss. She was a respectable widow, but it didn’t stop her becoming tongue-tied. “I—I—”

“You find yourself bored by our antics. You’d rather study Plautus, or is it Marcus Aurelius?” Chuckling, he leaned over her shoulder, flipped the book closed. With one long finger, he traced the name on the cover. “Saucy stories perhaps?”

The door opened and admitted Miss Louisa Stobart, one of the young ladies invited here to meet Lord Ripley. Connie’s godfather had confided to her that he might choose a bride from among them.

Now she understood why he’d shot into this room like a pursued fox. Miss Stobart had been the most assiduous of Lord Ripley’s pursuers, indefatigable in her chase. He’d been escaping her.

For a change, Connie was in charge. How delicious.

Lord Ripley straightened and gave Connie such a look of pleading that she almost laughed. “Help me,” he mouthed, before assuming his easy smile and facing his tormentor.

She would have preferred that he said that in different circumstances, but what she dreamed at night remained between her and her pillow. This would do. A little gentle revenge was called for. She slid the book over to his lordship and pointed at random. “Here is a word I cannot read, sir. Do you see?”

“No, ma’am.” Bending over her shoulder, he peered then looked at her.

Far too close, his breath heated her cheek and her heart quickened. This close, he’d see her reaction for sure. Inwardly, she groaned. She hadn’t bargained on him doing that. She should have shoved the book away from her.

His eyes widened slightly. He turned his attention to the book. “I think it says wormwood. An old spell book?”

She laughed. “An inventory, sir. As you well know.”

His shoulders relaxed under his country-coat. In an ordinary man that slight movement might remain unnoticed, but Connie had spent the last few days watching him surreptitiously. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and while she could tell herself that she was merely observing, it did no good. For the first time in her life, she longed to be younger, wealthier and socially higher ranking. Then she could compete. Instead, she’d dressed in a practical country gown that would survive hedgerows and house dust, and hidden away here. “Yes, of course. Wormwood.”

Thank goodness he straightened.

Miss Stobart stood on the other side of the table, her delicately draped pink silk gown mocking Connie’s sturdy dark green garment. Miss Stobart’s was a fashionable ideal of a gown to be worn in the country, sprinkled with exquisitely embroidered spring flowers. Miss Stobart’s gaze skimmed over Connie and to his lordship. Her ruby lips pursed in a winsome pout. “Sir, I had hoped we could take a turn in the gardens. I quite thought you had promised me at breakfast.”

“I had no idea.” He glanced down at Connie. It was her cue to say something.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your”—
Courtship? Pursuit?
—“walk. Of course you must go.”

Miss Stobart drummed her foot against the wood floor, maddening in the quiet library. “Indeed sir, I quite thought you’d forgotten me, so I came to find you.” Her voice was sweet; her foot was not.

“I beg your pardon, but I had promised today to Connie for some time now.” He gave her an easy smile.

Connie stared at him in astonishment. He’d used her first name. She wasn’t aware he even knew it. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she nearly leaped up. His skin wasn’t in contact with hers, due to her modest gown and fichu, but it might as well have been. She felt it like a shock of recognition. Of what she didn’t want to consider.

“Connie and I are old friends.” The familiarity of her first name implied he was much friendlier with her than anyone had imagined. “When she mentioned her task, I immediately volunteered to help. Her—er—errand is something I am particularly interested in.”